


Ab Irato, Veritas

by elementarydearmy



Category: Rome
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementarydearmy/pseuds/elementarydearmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Pullo defended Vorenus and one time Vorenus defended Pullo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ab Irato, Veritas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Destina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/gifts).



> I give a thank you to ancarett being my beta once again for this fic, and also providing the lovely latin title which translate to 'From the angry man honesty'

 

1.

            “I am the one to blame for Caesar’s death,” Vorenus repeated to Pullo in that too-familiar self-deprecating tone of his. Pullo was quickly beginning to tire of that tone.

            “Did you stab him? Was it you who held the knife?” Pullo demanded, turning to eye his friend.

            “No, but I was tasked with guarding him, and, with the first distraction they set upon me, I failed. Now, because of my folly, Caesar is dead, Niobe is dead and the children are missing. If I had protected Caesar as I should have the gods would not have cursed me so.”

            As Vorenus quickened his pace, Pullo reached forward to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Vorenus reluctantly stopped to face the other man. “You cannot blame yourself for this. You were not the one to kill Caesar, nor were you the one to end Niobe’s life. That choice was her own. Yes, the children are gone, but I promise you we will find them.”

He shifted uncomfortably as if struggling with the last few words he was about to say. “Do not blame yourself as you do. You are an honourable man and one mistake does not change that.”

            Vorenus’ mood only seemed to sour at the words, and he shrugged out of Pullo’s grip, turning his back on the words of comfort as he walked away.

 

 

2.

            The hot afternoon sun blazed down on their backs as they packed up Vorenus’ few possessions. Antony’s camp buzzed with activity as his men began to set everything up. A wounded infantry officer moaned as he was carried past them by his soldiers, one of whom holds a swath of bloodied fabric to the festering cut.

            Vorenus threw his small pack over the horse’s back before leaping into the saddle.

           “We’re losing daylight, Pullo,” he growled before digging his heels into the horse’s flank and breaking off into a trot down the dirt path snaking its way between the tents.

            Pullo was quick to copy the other’s movements and was back on his own horse in a single bound. His leave-taking was stalled by the angry scoff he heard from one of the passing soldiers.

            “He’s a coward, that Vorenus! I’ve heard him be called Mark Antony’s right hand man, but as soon as the outlook turns sour he’s off like a thief in the night. If he were any real man he’d stand with the rest of us to the end.” The soldier who bit this out stopped amongst a group of others who nodded solemn agreement to his words.

           There were a few more comments on Vorenus’ character and a couple of jokes that made the others laugh and jeer so that Pullo saw red. Before he knew what he was doing,  he sent his horse into a charge directly through the small group of men, who stumbled back if they were lucky or were flung aside by the horse if they were not. He heard a chorus of angry shouts following him as he left; they did nothing to wipe the grin off his face as he raced to pull his horse up alongside Vorenus’ own. 

 

3.

            “I hate him! I hate him!” Vorena the younger hissed, stomping past the adults and back up to the room she shared with her elder sister and brother. Slamming the door behind her in her fury, she slumped onto the thin bed and huffed.

            Her father was cruel and unkind; having killed her mother he now sought to take all the joy from her life as well. They couldn’t escape from him as her sister had planned, he shamed them in front of all of his comrades by telling them of their time as slaves and now he would not even let her stay up late into the evening as her sister got to do. She had just as much right to be treated as an adult as any of the others there.

            Behind her the door opened with a quiet creak, startling her into turning around to see Pullo smiling kindly at her. Sometimes Vorena believed she could have thought well of this man if he wasn’t a friend of her father’s.

            “I heard you, you know.” He said closing the door as quietly as he had opened it.

            He moved to stand before her, and Vorena felt her face heat up. She hadn’t thought anyone had heard the words of hate she had spat.

            Pullo gestured vaguely at her, as if unsure of what to do with his hands before speaking, “He really cares about you, and your sister, and even your brother, I think. And he cared about your mother, too. He loved her a lot, believe me he did, he’s just not very good at showing it.”

            His words rambled on and Vorena shook her head disbelievingly which made Pullo sigh.

            “I know you don’t believe me. But it’s the truth and if you could just let him in a little, show him some kindness that would be the world to him,” he said, ruffling Vorena’s hair before quietly stepping back out into the general din of the Collegium.

            Vorena thought on his words for a minute, rolling the thoughts of a caring father over in her mind before frowning and dropping her head back onto the pillow. Pullo was loyal to her father: he would say anything to defend the man, which left little doubt in her mind that his words, no matter how kind and promising, had to be a lie.

 

 

 

 

_+1_

           The tavern that Caesarian led Vorenus to was so far off the beaten path that he had to wonder how Pullo had managed to find it in the drunken stupor that incapacitated him. He thanked the boy with a silent pat on the back and thenshouldered his way past the two whores leaning themselves invitingly against the doorway. Vorenus could barely see with the dim torchlight inside, but there was no mistaking the large mass that Pullo made folded into a chair and draped across the table in front of him. By the large man’s hand was an overturned cup of ale dripping the amber liquid over his lap and down onto his sandals, pooling beneath him on the floor.

            Vorenus’ shoulders heaved in a sigh as he made his way up to the tavern-keep, pulling out a small fistful of denarii from his pouch that he was wise enough not to flaunt in this company. The tavern-keep was a short man, with grizzly grey hair and a thick coating of dirt on him that did nothing to hide his severe lack of teeth, or squinted eyes which glared up at Vorenus suspiciously.

            “What do you want?” The little man growled, spitting out each word.

           Vorenus ignored the question and gestured to Pullo who had gained enough consciousness to shove the empty cup away from him and off on to the floor where its spun in a circles for a long moment before lolling to a stop by the table leg. “I’m here to pay his tab,” Vorenus finally said, dropping the coins onto the bar’s top.

            Each coin dropped seemed to lighten the grimy little tavern keeper’s mood more and more. He reached a grubby hand out and snatched up the lot, smirking at Vorenus.

           “Very nice of you, that is. I thought I’d have to pull the money off of him meeself in the state he’s in. Pathetic he is, so drunk he doesn’t even know his own name and can do nothing but bemoan about some dead bitch named Eirene. Pathetic clout.” He spat the last words gleefully as put away the money, not noticing as Vorenus’ features shifted from stony to murderous in a matter of moments.

            “You’d be wise,” Vorenus said lowly, “to watch your tongue or else risk losing it.”

            He walked briskly over to Pullo, throwing one of the larger man’s arms over his shoulder and hefting him up. The movement made him wince in pain, but that only served to make him angrier as he shuffled himself and Pullo out of the tavern door. But before they left, he turned one last time to the tavern keeper whose eyes were wide with shock.

            “He is twice the man you have ever been or ever will be and the only pathetic thing I see here is you,” Vorenus growled before hauling the two of them out into the street.  

            “Didn’t know you cared so much,” Pullo mumbled to the sky as his head flopped back over his shoulder.

            Vorenus said nothing as they walked on, only stopping to let Pullo vomit profusely onto his own feet before carefully guiding him back home. 


End file.
